Part 14 (1/2)

”So, in that case you wouldn't have had to be alone with him, Devon, that's what. I'm thinking this excuse you're giving me? It's a bunch of c.r.a.p.” She pauses. ”If you get tried in adult court, that's exactly what a jury will think, I can tell you that.”

Devon looks at her thumbnail, gnawed down to the quick. She picks at the cuticle. She really shouldn't do this; a keeper's hands are too important to chew up, bit by bit.

”Which leads me back to my previous question: what did you think he'd ask you when he got you alone?”

”Nothing. I didn't think anything.”

”Oh, really? Then why did you freak out and-”

Devon glares at her. ”I didn't 'freak out,' Dom. I never 'freak out.'”

”Devon, you told me yourself that you started yelling at him. About you not having s.e.x, and that you knew all about birth control, et cetera.” Dom hesitates. ”You know what that says to me? First, it says that you did, in fact, have an idea of what he might have asked you-questions involving s.e.x. It also says that you were feeling very defensive about having to answer any such questions. Why else the attack? And, furthermore, you lied to him-”

”No, I didn't! I wasn't having s.e.x, Dom.”

”Okay, fine. That may be technically true; you were not currently s.e.xually active. At least, that's the story you're telling me.” Dom waits, lets the words stick.

Dom thinks she's lying again. What kind of person does she think Devon is? Her mom's clone? Sleeping with any guy who looks her way? Devon's eyes find an ink stain on the tabletop to examine. Is this a new table? Because she's never noticed the stain before. It's shaped like a stretched-out heart. Twisted and warped.

”Maybe your words were meant to deceive,” Dom continues. ”Maybe you wanted him to conclude that you've never been s.e.xually active. You definitely wanted any further discussion of s.e.x to end right then and there, that's obvious. You were pretty frantic about it. Why? That's what I'm trying to figure out here.”

Devon traces the ink heart with her index finger. ”Because it's embarra.s.sing, talking about that stuff! To a man, especially. And I think that any other kid my age would feel the exact same way.” Devon flicks her eyes toward Dom. ”I bet you felt the same way when you were my age!”

Dom watches Devon trace the ink stain over and over for a moment without saying anything. Then she shrugs. ”Okay, point taken. But . . . you were wearing a sanitary napkin. Why? You weren't having your period.”

”Because, I told you, it's embarra.s.sing. I didn't want him looking . . . down there.”

”That's it, huh?”

Devon looks over at Dom. ”Plus, my mom suggested that I-”

”So, you're the kind of girl who gets embarra.s.sed easily, huh?” Dom raises an eyebrow. ”So shy and innocent-”

”Yeah, maybe I am!” Devon jumps off her stool, starts pacing the room. ”You think you're so smart. You think you know everything. Well, you don't know me!” She slams her back to the cinder block wall, hugs herself. ”You know nothing about me. Not! A! Thing!”

Dom smacks the tabletop. ”Okay, then tell me! If I'm missing something, Devon, fill me in! Because if I don't know it, the judge at the hearing on Tuesday won't know it. And the twelve people who may be sitting in the jury one day if this case goes to trial won't know it, either. But they will know the facts. And right now, the facts are all against you. Shall I list them?”

Devon drops her head back then, looks up at the ceiling, at the pattern its cracks make. Crisscrossed, like lines in a palm. The lines that hold a person's destiny.

”They'll know that you went to a doctor when you were approximately five weeks pregnant. They'll have heard that doctor's testimony. They'll know that he examined you, that he noticed you were wearing a sanitary napkin in your underwear, that you told him you had just started your period that very morning when you hadn't. They'll hear everything you told the doctor-about being fatigued, about your frequent urination problem, about being nauseous, how you threw up in the morning before you went to the appointment. By the way, all of these symptoms happen to be symptoms of pregnancy, and the jury will know that. The prosecution will have an expert testifying to make absolutely sure that the jury understands that. The jury will see the medical records, which state that you had a slight fever and high blood pressure. High blood pressure, by the way, is an indicator of extreme nervousness or stress. They'll know that you panicked when the doctor wanted to ask you some personal questions relating to your s.e.xual activity. The doctor will testify that you refused to give him a urine sample during your appointment and that you did not follow his instructions to return a sample to his office or schedule a follow-up visit.” Dom places her hands flat on the tabletop, pushes off her stool, and walks over to Devon, who still has her back to the wall. ”So. How do you think that will play to the jury, Devon?”

Devon drops her head, looks down at her feet. ”I don't know,” she whispers.

”No? Well, let me help you out then.” Dom puts her index finger under Devon's chin and raises her face so Devon is forced to look Dom directly in the eyes. ”Those twelve people will draw the obvious conclusion. That you, Devon Sky Davenport, knew you were pregnant that morning-”

”No, Dom!” Devon squeezes her eyes shut. ”I didn't-”

”That you did absolutely everything you could think of to hide this information from the doctor-”

”No! That's not true!”

”That you continued to hide this pregnancy for the next eight months-”

”No!”

”-and then, when the day finally came that you gave birth, you attempted to hide that evidence, too. You put that baby in a trash bag and tossed it in a garbage can and left it to die!”

Devon is trembling. Even her teeth chatter. She tries to jerk her head away, but Dom's finger is anch.o.r.ed there, too strong.

”These are steps, Devon. When you have steps, you have a plan. When you have a plan, you have what's called premeditation. Premeditation points to guilt. And guilt equals going to jail. For a long, long time.” Dom pulls her finger away from Devon's chin and takes a step back. ”That, right there, will be the prosecutor's argument.” Dom crosses her arms. ”And right now, even I'm buying it.”

Devon's head drops. She wraps her arms around herself tighter, trying to control her shaking. Her breaths come rapid and ragged. ”I didn't know any of that, Dom. I swear. I didn't know I was pregnant.”

Dom throws her hands up. ”When, Devon? When didn't you know you were pregnant? During the appointment? Because-”

”Ever!”

The word startles both Dom and Devon with its intensity. Dom takes another step back.

Devon swallows. ”Okay? I didn't ever know I was pregnant, Dom. Not until . . . until That Night when . . . when . . . all that stuff happened.”

”What 'stuff,' Devon? Huh? Quit hiding behind words.” Dom yanks off her warm-up top, tosses it onto the floor. Puts her hands on her hips.

Devon says nothing. Just breathes. She feels something coming, something dark and ominous sneaking out of some cubby in her mind. She shakes her head, flinging it back and away. Back to its shadow, its hiding place.

Dom takes in a deep breath, lets it out. She drops down onto the stool that Devon had just vacated. ”So, you're saying that you didn't know you were pregnant until you gave birth. That's your story?” She closes her eyes. ”You know, Devon, I'm sorry, but I'm just not convinced. And if I'm not convinced, well . . . it's pointless going over all that again.”

Devon slides down the wall to the floor. She hugs herself into a tight little ball, her chin resting on her knees. ”I think I was . . . afraid . . . that maybe . . . that I might be . . . pregnant,” Devon finally says, the words a whisper.

”Okay,” Dom says, pausing for Devon to continue, but she doesn't. ”So, if you were afraid that you could be pregnant, Devon, that usually means s.e.x was involved. Right?” Dom's voice is gentle now, her words creeping across the room to where Devon sits. ”You know-a boy, a girl, together. You're a girl, so . . . can you tell me about this boy?”

Devon buries her face into her knees. Please don't make me. She's cold suddenly. The floor, the wall, is too cool. Her skin is moist, she realizes then. She's been sweating.

Dom stands, moves toward Devon, sits on the floor beside her. All very slow and cautious, like approaching a bird with a broken wing. ”Was it rape, Devon?”

Devon shakes her head vigorously no.

Dom rests her head on the wall, looks up at the ceiling. ”Okay. Then, it was . . . consensual?”

Devon starts to cry. Little sniffles, m.u.f.fled by her knees.

Dom touches Devon's back, rubs it gently, little circular motions.

Finally, Devon raises her head, turns to look at Dom sitting beside her. ”I think”-Devon's voice catches-”I'm ready. To tell you . . . about”-she sighs deeply-”about him.”

”Then I'm ready to listen.”

Devon rests her forehead on her knees and stays like that for a long time. When she finally starts, she's speaking to her lap. ”So, last summer. I babysat these two little kids. Twins-a boy and a girl.”

Dom waits. Then, ”How old?”